


Part 1 - Lavender Brown

by Renny236



Series: Witchy Women [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Lavender Brown Lives, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27272095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renny236/pseuds/Renny236
Summary: Stories in this new series are loosely tied to my Harmonious Universe series, and will tell the stories of different female HP characters after the War.
Relationships: TBD - Relationship
Series: Witchy Women [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991299
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There may be romance to come in this fic. If that occurs, pairings and tags and/or the story rating will be adjusted.

The cover shot of the first October 2007 Witch Weekly issue commanded attention: a busty blonde, leaning against the side of a bright red Muggle convertible, wearing a short Muggle skirt showcasing excellent legs in high-heeled designer shoes. As the reader watched, the cover model crossed her arms defiantly and raised both her chin and her eyebrow. The headline blared: WITCH, WEREWOLF **AND** WAR HERO? Meet the _REAL_ Lavender Brown!

***

Lavender had disappeared after the War. Many had seen her attacked by Fenrir Grayback and struggling to move afterward. In the confusion, people seemed to believe he’d drug her body away. In reality, she’d Apparated home. She was groggy after hitting her head in her fall from the balcony, and bleeding from wounds on her left cheek, neck and arm. She could never afterward say how she had managed the apparition without splinching herself. 

Her parents, not knowing her injuries were caused by a lycanthrope, summoned a private Medi-Witch when she’d refused to go to St. Mungo’s. She did not know how to tell her parents about the werewolf attack. She was hoping against hope that what she feared wasn’t true.

As a result of the prompt medical treatment, her concussion was resolved and her blood was replenished. Her scars were minimized to some degree but could not be fully eradicated. Frustrated with the lack of complete success, the Medi-Witch cast additional diagnostics which revealed the changes in her blood chemistry. “You’re a werewolf!” she’d exclaimed, backing away hastily. 

Even as her eyes welled, Lavender could still see the horror that her parents felt written on their faces. With a detached admiration, she also saw that the reaction did not stop her father from reacting quickly. _“Obliviate,”_ he said firmly, raising his wand as the Medi-Witch spun to head for the door. 

After thanking the confused Medi-Witch for her time and seeing her out several minutes later, Gideon and Evanelda Brown returned to hug their daughter carefully. They could see Lavender was too overwrought to talk, and since they felt much the same themselves, they gently kissed her and went to bed.

Lavender sobbed herself to a fitful sleep. She couldn’t bring herself to examine her wounds in the looking glass, and the thought of being a werewolf was too painful to bear. 

She had always loved beautiful things. As shallow as it sounded, she had always been proud to think of herself as one of them. She wasn’t sure she could handle not being pretty. But even as she thought it, she knew she had bigger issues to worry about.

She woke when the cold light of day began to dawn and steeled herself to summon a lunar calendar. The next full moon was scheduled for May 11th. It was May 3rd and time to consider what she knew about lycanthropy. She found it sobering to realize how few facts she had.

She did not understand how Greyback could have been in wolf form when he attacked her after her fall from the balcony since there had not been a full moon, but she knew that he had been. Even now, alone in her room, she felt terror anew at remembering the sight of those horrible yellow eyes in a hairy face right before he’d attacked her with fangs and claws while on all fours. She was not sure why he had not killed her as she had passed out after being attacked. She could only assume he had somehow been distracted by another combatant.

She was not sure if she would change for the first time at dusk or at moon rise on the 11th. She remembered Professor Lockhart stating that the Homorphus Charm could force a werewolf back into human form. She was not completely sure this was true, but if it was, she was unsure how to cast it. 

She had heard there was some potion Professor Snape had brewed for Professor Lupin that had allowed his mind to remain human during the change, and there had been rumors there was a secured spot at Hogwarts where he had gone for each full moon. _‘I have to find Professor Lupin,’_ she thought. _‘Thank Merlin I know someone who has already been through this.’_ She would find him as soon as possible. But first, she needed to talk to her parents.

Trying not to cry again, she bathed, dressed, and headed down to breakfast, never once going near the mirror.

***

Ninety minutes later, it was not even 7:00 am but she was already emotionally exhausted from conversations with her parents that had been both tearful and circular. She’d learned from _The Daily Prophet’s_ blaring headlines that Voldemort had been defeated at last. She had no time to read the articles but her father told her that the remaining Death Eaters were in custody and that Hogwarts was in need of extensive repair. The small, aloof portion of her brain not completely consumed with her own troubles faintly registered pleasure that Harry, Hermione, Ron and Professor McGonagall had survived, as their dazed but happy pictures on the front page attested. 

She told her parents she had to go out, and sent a message via the enchanted galleon to Professor Lupin to meet her at Hogwarts. It was early, but she knew he and his wife had a new baby so thought he was unlikely to still be asleep. 

She Apparated to the Hogsmeade tunnel which would take her to the Room of Requirement. Before entering, she thought firmly of the room she wanted to see. When she went in, she was disappointed not to see the Professor. The room, though empty, looked much the same as she had left it. Since it clearly had been missed in the Battle, she could not figure out why it stank of smoke. Mentally shrugging, she opened the door to the seventh floor corridor cautiously, casting a Disillusioning spell on herself as she exited. She headed toward the dungeons, thinking she might as well search the Potions lab on the off chance any helpful werewolf potion would be labeled in such a way that she could recognize it. The detached, logical portion of her brain informed her that Snape would have destroyed these potions before he let the Carrows into the castle, but she had to check.

She was shocked at the damage she saw in most of the corridors, and the still silence of the castle was unnerving in itself. When she made it to the first floor, tremors beset her as she saw where the balcony had been blasted away, remembering how that had sent her to the floor of the Great Hall, where….

‘ _NO_ ,’ she told herself firmly, ‘ _you are not going to think about that right now!’_

Cautiously, she peered down to ensure no one was about. When she saw all the bodies covered in white sheets laying on the floor below her, she dropped to her knees, hands covering her mouth in shock.

“ _Finite_ ,” said a familiar Scottish voice behind her. She was no longer Disillusioned. “Miss Brown? Lavender?” the voice said.

Whirling while simultaneously trying to stand only resulted in tripping over her day robes and dropping her wand. She fumbled for it like a wild thing, even as Professor McGonagall bent to hand it back to her. She snatched it away and made it to her feet. _‘Don’t back up, don’t back up,’_ she chanted mentally, trying to force herself to remember the balcony rail behind her was gone. Somewhat hysterically, she briefly entertained the thought that perhaps she would get a happier ending if she fell a second time and dashed her brains out on the Great Hall floor.

Sensing that the girl was panicked, Minerva retreated a few paces to create some space between them. She spoke soothingly. “It’s all right, my dear. Everything is all right.” 

The sound of _that_ lie snapped Lavender’s thin thread of control and suddenly she was sobbing, on her knees on the floor once again, wand clutched to her chest as she cried. “I-I need P-Professor L-Lupin,” she finally choked out. “Do you know where I c-can find him? H-he was supposed to meet me here.”

The frozen look on her Head of House’s face sent alarms ringing through her brain. “Oh, my dear,” Minerva said. “I have very bad news.”

She was sidearm-Apparated back to the Room of Requirement as Minerva explained that the wards which had previously prevented Apparition inside Hogwarts were temporarily down. Having learned from Neville the night before how the room worked, Minerva concentrated on what she needed and paced the corridor while Lavender watched. When they entered the room, they found comfortable furniture, a crackling fire and a pot of hot tea.

Once they were seated, Minerva gently broke the news of Remus’s death. “Why did you need to see him, my dear?”

Though she had cautioned her parents to tell no one of her lycanthropy, her shocked despair at the unexpected news had the whole story tumbling out. She saw the horror and pity on her Head of House’s face, then watched silently as Minerva visibly pulled herself together. “Well!” she said. “I knew Remus Lupin since he was a schoolboy. Let me tell you what I know about lycanthropy.”

Minerva explained about the Wolfsbane potion and the Shrieking Shack. After Summoning a book about lycanthropy from her personal collection, she left Lavender alone to peruse it while she departed for the Lupins’ home. She returned an hour later with several bottles of Wolfsbane and the recipe for the potion written out in Professor Snape’s hand. 

“Shortly before Albus died, Severus gave Remus several bottles of Wolfsbane in stasis and a copy of the recipe. He said at the time that Voldemort could kill him at any time and he did not want his own afterlife spoiled by stories of Remus chewing up the populace on his account.” 

She winced at her poor wording choice on seeing the look of horror on Lavender’s face, and hastily continued, “Severus and Remus were never friends, Miss Brown. In any event, Severus told Remus that the stasis bottles were an experiment and that if the experiment was successful Remus would not need to bother him every month. It _was_ successful and Severus went on to make Remus an additional year’s supply. This is what is left.”

She sighed. “Now of course I realize that he knew we would all turn on him after he killed Dumbledore, and that he would not be able to supply the potion after that. He did not want Remus to be helpless.”

Seeing Lavender’s stare, she told the girl of Snape’s death and about the apparent fact that he had been Dumbledore’s man all along, something she was still trying to come to terms with herself. 

Lavender was barely listening as she tried to process the fact that she was going to have to go through her first change on her own and that she would be out of Wolfsbane in four months’ time. She’d passed Potions, but knew her skill level was nowhere near what would be required to brew it successfully. _‘And the bludgers just keep getting hit my way,’_ she thought.

Seeing her pupil’s misery, Minerva quietly said, “I know it feels very grim now, Miss Brown, but your friends will help you through this. They will be so happy to find out you’re alive. Someone reported they’d seen Greyback carrying your body away, and…”

“ **NO**.” Lavender spoke harshly. Minerva stopped talking out of sheer shock. “No one is to know I’m alive, Professor.” She was on her feet, wand pointed and hand surprisingly steady. “ _Obliviate_.”

Knowing from the Medi-Witch experience that her former head of house would lack awareness for the next few moments as she mentally adjusted to the spell, Lavender quickly Disillusioned herself again. She grabbed her teacup, Minerva’s book, the Wolfsbane recipe and the potion bottles before slipping silently from the room.

***

Shaken by her own nerve, she went home and informed her parents she was leaving and that she wanted everyone to think she was dead. In vain, Gideon and Evanelda tried to get her to change her mind. 

“How can I stay? she said passionately. “You _know_ the prejudice against werewolves in Great Britain. And I won’t be a figure of pity and f-feared, I _won’t._ ” Her chin rose even as her voice broke slightly. “They will probably tell you today that I’m missing and feared dead. Have a funeral. But don’t tell _anyone_ I’m alive.”

Exhausted, her father just stared at her. “Lavender, you’re 17 years old. Where do you think you’re going to go?”

Smiling faintly, scarred chin in the air, Lavender replied. “That’s easy, Daddy. We have money. I’m going to Paris.”

***

After hearing her plan, her father dispatched a trusted house elf to Paris to purchase and furnish a remote flat, with instructions to modify it with a hidden steel-reinforced, sound-proofed panic room that would lock behind her when she entered it and which would not unlock once she entered for 30 hours. Once she moved, she would furnish the panic room with a small refrigerator for her Wolfsbane and a few bottles of water, a small bathroom, a few books, and a comfortable chair, and a pallet on the floor. She wasn’t quite sure what Wolf Lavender would need or want but figured she could adjust the furnishings for Month 2 if needed.

She hid in her room while Ministry officials and Minerva McGonagall visited her parents to announce her probable death. Listening to her parents sob on the floor below, she thought it was probably a relief for them to have a reason to cry openly. _‘They’ve been trying to stay so strong for me.’_

She caught up on _The Prophet_ articles, stunned to read of over fifty Light deaths during the final battle. For some reason, reading about Colin Creevey hit her the hardest. She hadn’t known him well, but he had been so young. “What was you even _doing_ there, Colin,” she muttered, wiping away a tear. She’d thought all the minor children had been smuggled out. 

***

Three days later, on May 6th, the Parisian flat was ready and her father had completed the transfer of both galleons and francs to bank accounts in the name of Lavender Marron. 

“I’ll find a job, Daddy,” Lavendar said softly, as she prepared to leave with their house elf to be popped straight into the new property. “I don’t expect you to support me forever. I just need to get through this first couple of months.” 

Gideon crushed her in a hug. “Don’t be absurd, Lavender. And we will see you soon enough.”

“Lavender, are you _sure_ you don’t want me to come with you?” Evanelda looked as if she had not slept well in days, which was probably true. She could not believe her precious only child was prepared to face a frightening, probably painful change on her own.

Lavender hugged her mother. “I’m sure, Mother. At least until we know whether the Wolfsbane is successful, it’s better for me to be alone.” Dammit, she had tears in her eyes _again._ She didn’t think she had cried this much in her life. Whispering, she added, “I wouldn’t be able to stand it if somehow I hurt you.” 

Her mother’s eyes dropped but not before Lavender read the plain message in them. She already had. The knowledge made her heart ache, but it did not change her mind.

“Sunshine,” she said to the elf she’d named when she was three, “I’m ready.” And they were gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Fleeing to the Continent had seemed a good plan. Lavender’s family had traveled extensively in Europe since she was a small child. Her French was flawless, and no one in England would think anything of it if her parents left the country for an extended European vacation or even relocated to Europe to recover from their “grief”. 

She was familiar with Paris and its magical community, but had not visited the area in several years. With her matured body, her scarred face and the absence of her parents, she had no real concerns about being recognized.

_May 3, 1998_

She was worn out from another emotionally exhausting day, but Lavender was determined to read at least some of Professor McGonagall’s book about lycanthropy before she went to sleep. She’d never been much of a studier, but for the first time in her life, she was dealing with a situation outside of her parents’ expertise and she hated her ignorance. _‘I’m the werewolf, and I have to be the expert too, I guess,’_ she thought, lifting the heavy tome from her nightstand.

A piece of parchment fell out of the book. She’d forgotten that she’d tucked the Wolfsbane potion recipe into the book that morning for safe-keeping before Apparating home. She decided to review it again in more detail. Her cursory review that morning had told her brewing it would be outside her skill set, but perhaps if she was careful….

Several minutes later, a pale Lavender was profoundly thankful that she had taken the time tonight to read the parchment carefully. In her hasty review that morning, she’d missed the notes Professor Snape had made on the back of the recipe, and those were eye-opening to say the least.

As a result of the additional information, she knew that she had to start daily Wolfsbane potion dosages one week prior to the full moon and that even one missed dose could render the potion ineffective. Since the full moon was on May 11th, that meant that she had to take the first dose the day after tomorrow. 

She shuddered as she realized how close she had come to mucking that up, and could almost hear Professor Snape’s derisive snort in her head at her foolishness. She wondered if his spirit had somehow pushed the parchment out of the book and into her lap. 

“I’m sorry, Professor,” she whispered. “Gryffindors really are a bunch of dunderheads who don’t know how to read thoroughly, aren’t we? Oh Gods, thank you for writing this down!” She was still trembling.

His notes also made it plain that she would be foolish in the extreme to try to brew it herself, indicating that wolfsbane was poisonous and brewing method complex. Here his underscore marks had been so violently drawn that they had nearly gone through the parchment, and she had to wonder if brewing was something Professor Lupin had threatened to do.

She also now understood she could make no modifications to the final product without risking its efficacy. ( _“Do not add sweetener. Do not add **ANYTHING** ,” _Snape had written.)

Lavender knew that meant the potion was unlikely to taste good. Setting the recipe on the nightstand and picking up her book, she could not help but wonder if in the next few months her bloody eyeball boggart would be replaced by a steaming blue potion.

_May 5, 1998_

“Bloody **hell**!” Lavender gasped, before being double in a coughing fit as she fought to keep the potion down. 

“Language, Lavender,” her mother admonished, conjuring a towel to dab her daughter’s sweating brow. Lavender’s parents had been hovering protectively since she had ended the miniaturization spell on the bottle. Both had wanted to be there when she took her first dose. Both were distressed by their daughter’s reaction.

Lavender won the fight to keep the vile substance down, then dropped weakly into a chair, taking the towel from her mother to wipe her streaming eyes. “I’m a werewolf now, Mother. I think I get to swear,” she said dryly. “That was **horrible**!”

Her father was frowning over the recipe. “I was at school with Severus Snape. He could be a nasty bit of work if he didn’t like you, and there was never any love lost between him and Remus Lupin. I wonder if he was telling the truth about altered taste affecting efficacy.”

“I don’t know, Daddy, but it’s not like I’m going to risk it.” Lavender raised her chin. “It’s once a day for seven days. If it allows me to keep my mind, then I will happily pay the cost. Well, maybe not _happily_ , but…”

Gideon frowned. “Some of these ingredients are expensive. You are going to need to find a potioneer who is not only skilled but honest as well, Lavender. Otherwise, you could end up with someone who substitutes cheaper ingredients with an eye to pocket the cost difference.” 

He sat down next to his daughter. “You’re sure you don’t want me to have a quiet word with some of my sources here?”

Lavender hugged him. “Daddy, I promise if I haven’t found someone in six weeks, I will let you know. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be taking a sudden interest in werewolf-related issues right now. I mean, we never have before, so how would that look?”

Her mother was now studying the recipe, and was also frowning. “Severus was always a gifted brewer, but I know inventing a new potion involves a lot of trial and error. I don’t see how he would have had the funds to invent this. He never seemed to have a lot of money when we were in school. Perhaps he was working with someone else?”

“Oh, he didn’t invent it. That was someone called Damocles Belby.” Lavender knew this from Professor McGonagall’s book, which was proving to be well worth the read. 

“Belby?” Evanelda looked at Gideon. “Wasn’t your Great-Aunt Pertha’s husband a Belby?”

“Hmmm. You may be right about that.” Gideon stood and looked down at his daughter. “You get settled in at the new flat and start looking around for a trustworthy brewer. I’ll do some quiet research into the family tree and see what I can find out there.” 

His eyes took on a steely glint. “One way or another, we will make sure you never run out of that potion.”

_May 6, 1998_

Lavender and Sunshine the house elf popped into the new Parisian flat mid-afternoon. There was not much unpacking to do, as Sunshine had been popping back and forth with luggage and other belongings for the past several days.

While Sunshine put the final items away, Lavender wandered around the flat a bit aimlessly. The furnishings were beautiful and in colors she liked – creams and soft greens, with some purple accents. The walls had been deliberately left bare and there were other opportunities to make the place reflect her own sense of style. Evanelda knew her daughter loved to shop and that she would need something to occupy both her time and her mind as she waited on the eleventh and her first change. Lavender was grateful now for her mother’s wisdom. 

“Thank you, Mummy,” she whispered. She was again conscious of how fortunate she was in her parents. They’d known no more about werewolves at the beginning of this process than she had, but their love and support for her was as resolute as it had always been. Her throat ached under a wave of homesickness, but she was determined not to cry again. 

“Buck up, Lavender,” she told herself now. “Werewolves don’t cry.” 

She hesitated at the door to the panic room, accessible through a hidden door at the back of her bedroom closet. It could be opened at wandpoint from the outside only with the speaking of her name. They’d purchased a second wand for that purpose, and Sunshine had tested it to make sure it would work for her. 

The room would lock automatically when the door closed after entry. Once locked, unless someone outside the room deliberately unlocked it, the door would not open until it opened automatically thirty hours later. That time interval could be modified later if needed, but the warding magicians would need to come back out to make any change.

“Sunshine?” Lavender called. 

“Yes, missy?” Sunshine was there immediately. 

“I’m going in. Could you unlock the door again in ten minutes?”

The small house elf nodded solemnly. Lavender raised her chin, touched her wand firmly to the door and said “Lavender.” (She knew that as protection words went, it was far from imaginative, but she had to imagine that her name would be at the forefront of the brain of any person who was worried about her in the room.)

The steel reinforced door swung silently inward. Lavender exchanged glances with Sunshine, then stepped firmly forward.

“I’ll see you in ten minutes,” she said, stepping into the room and motioning the door closed with her wand before she could lose her nerve.

She took a deep breath as the heavy door shut, and turned to face the room. It was painted a very pale blue, which was said to be a calming color, with white accents. There was a very large comfortable chair complete with oversized ottoman, next to a small bookshelf which held several books and magazines. 

There was a small refrigerator in a locked closet, also behind a steel door which could be unlocked only with a wand and security word. The fridge already held some bottles of water and the three remaining miniaturized bottles of Wolfsbane potion, along with the full size bottle that would provide the dosage she would take that evening. 

The decision on where to store the Wolfsbane in the new flat had been a difficult one. Even in stasis form, it had to be kept cool, so a refrigerator was required. 

She hoped that at some future point she would have friends who she could invite over. This meant she did not want the potion, with its odd blue color, sitting in the main flat refrigerator, where it could bring unwanted questions from guests helping themselves to a drink or snack.

She had finally decided to store it in the panic room, where it would be safe from guest detection. This was the main reason why a second wand was stored in the main part of the flat – she was afraid she would accidentally lock herself in during one of her daily visits for her potion dosage each month. The door was supposed to require a wand motion to close within the first ten minutes after opening, automatically closing after that. However, Lavender hadn’t scored an O on her Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. for nothing. “Constant vigilance,” she murmured.

The extra steel door that secured the small refrigerator was her “Just in Case” security door. While she was counting on the potion to work, and on herself not to miss a dose, she knew from Minerva that even Professor Lupin had missed a dose at least once. She did not want any future risk of mindless Wolf Lavender knocking over the refrigerator in a wolfie fit and destroying the bottles within. 

Wolf Lavender, having no opposable thumbs or speaking voice, would be unable to open the door to access the fridge in the panic room. Her parents had been pretty impressed that she’d thought of this, and Lavender had to confess she was fairly chuffed at herself.

She really had put a great deal of thought into this space, although she fully expected to learn more about what she would need with each of the first few changes. The floor was lushly carpeted and there was a large comfortable looking stuffed pallet on the floor under the window illusion. On the opposite wall, there was a small bathroom, which contained a doorless shower. She didn’t know if Wolf Lavender was going to need to use the loo, but if so, she couldn’t see herself squatting on all fours over the toilet and she certainly wasn’t going to go on the carpet. It would be embarrassing enough to pee on the shower floor, but that would be easily rinsed once she regained human form.

Lighting was all overhead and could be turned off with a _Nox_ spell – there were no lamps to be knocked over. A few _Reparos_ might be needed for books, chair or bookshelf until Wolf Lavender learned to control her tail or instincts, but those repairs should be easily accomplished. 

She cast a quick _Tempus_ and realized she had about five minutes to go before Sunshine unlocked the door. Thirty hours was going to be a very long time. She looked around the main room again with renewed scrutiny. 

With the room’s sparse furnishings against the walls, there was a fair amount of open space. She wondered idly if she should bring in a few dog toys. She was fairly certain it would make her mother cry again to imagine her daughter in wolf form chasing a ball around the room or laying on the pallet gnawing on a bone. However, she would probably be in wolfie form for at least eight hours if not more, and it wasn’t like she was going to be able to read. She hoped to sleep at least some of it away, but what if Wolf Lavender was an insomniac? Lavender didn’t like being bored, and couldn’t imagine that her wolf version was going to feel any differently. A bored Wolf Lavender might choose to eat the comfy chair, right mind or no. 

“Dog toys it is then,” she said to herself. “And maybe a water bowl for the bathroom.” 

The door swung silently open and Sunshine peered in. “You okay, Missy Lavender?”

“I am. Thanks, Sunshine.” As Lavender left the panic room, she was surprised to realize she DID feel a bit better. She was still afraid of the coming change, but it helped to have a plan and a secure place.

Now, if she was remembering correctly, the larger food market in the center of the magical section of Paris had a rather large pet supply section. They’d gone there for pet food when Blinky was still alive. Lavender, who had always wanted a dog, had wandered over to the dog supply section a couple of times in the hopes that her parents would finally give in to her hints. Her father, though, had always claimed his allergies meant they couldn’t have a dog or cat and that she should be happy with the rabbit. 

A smile lit her face for the first time in days. She’d have to be sure to bring up those allergies in tomorrow night’s Floo call with her parents. _‘So you didn’t want a dog, Daddy?’_

“Sunshine, I’m going to run a few errands. I’ll be back for dinner.” 


	3. Chapter 3

_May 11, 1998_

Lavender got out of bed knowing she needed to keep busy that day. Tonight, sometime after sundown, she would change for the first time. 

The only way she was going to avoid freaking over W-Day, as she had come to think of it, was to stay active. First up on the agenda: a few stretches, followed by a run.

She had never been much for exercise, but since arriving in Paris, she’d gone for a run every day. Whether this was the result of too much nervous energy as she awaited her first change or Wolf Lavender somehow influencing her behavior, she wasn’t sure, but the exercise definitely calmed her. It had the added benefit of making her feel slightly less guilty about the wolf, who if all went according to plan, wouldn’t be running anywhere. 

She tried to do three miles each day, alternating running with walking and each day trying to increase the initial run a wee bit more. She still could not run an entire mile yet without walking, but it surprised her how much she was enjoying the challenge.

Gasping for breath after her outing, she called out to let Sunshine know she was popping into the shower and would be ready for breakfast afterward. She and the house elf had taken to eating most meals together, something that she had not yet mentioned to her parents because she knew they would think it odd. 

_‘And it IS odd, but I am grateful for the company,’_ she thought as she threw her sweaty clothes in the hamper. 

As Lavender waited for the shower water to heat, she reminded herself that she had another big item on her To Do list today. She wiped the increasing steam from the bathroom mirror with a hand that perhaps was not altogether steady. Taking a deep breath, she took a long look at herself in the glass.

Other that unavoidable quick glances, she’d avoided mirrors since the attack, and had never allowed herself to study her face. She had to force herself to do it now, and the effort took so long she then had to wipe more steam from the mirror before she could see herself properly.

Her eyes were drawn immediately to the scars. Like the scars on her left arm, which she looked at every day, they were not red or scabbed but instead were white and aged in appearance – a testimony to the skill of the healer her parents had hired. 

Her arm had gotten the worst of the damage – she had multiple scars on both sides of it. Greyback’s claws had left wounds nearly half a centimeter or more in width and several centimeters in length, and there were two sets of puncture wounds. She knew if she had not gotten the arm up in time, the werewolf’s bite would probably have severed her jugular and she would have bled to death. The multiple claw marks criss-crossing her left arm were a testament to how hard he had tried to pull that arm down.

“The Wizengamot’s still out on whether that would have been a better outcome,” she murmured to herself. “Guess we’ll know tonight.”

The scars on her neck appears to have come from claws rather than teeth, most of them on the back and side of her neck and largely covered by her long hair. She took another deep breath, wiped away more steam, and focused on her face.

“None of that,” she told herself firmly, as tears threatened. “Today is the day, Lavender, and werewolves don’t cry.” It was becoming her mantra. 

Wiping the mirror, she focused again. She tried to see her entire face in perspective, but found it impossible to do - her eyes gravitated to the scarred areas on the left side as if a magnet pulled them there. 

Dispassionately, she considered that there was far less facial scarring that she had anticipated, and that the scars looked much better than she had thought they would. There were definite puncture wounds from Greyback’s upper mandible across her left cheekbone in two places, matching the lower mandible puncture wounds were on her forearm.

There were a few scarred lines extending down her left cheek, most to a nominal degree but one that was several centimeters long. Whether these marks were from teeth or from claws, she was not sure. She belatedly realized that she was shaking and that the glass was fogged again, and decided to forego further inspection until after her shower. 

After bathing, she forced herself to style and dry her hair in front of the mirror as she had always done prior to the attack. “Get used to it, Lavender,” she muttered. “No more hiding!”

She tried casting a glamour spell to make the left cheek look as smooth as the right, and was pleased to see she could do it. However, she knew from experience that glamours would only last a few hours and were practically guaranteed to wear off just when you least wanted them to. 

She raised her chin and met her own defiant gaze in the glass. She would _not_ let this define her! The scars were part of her and, at least for today, she was not going to hide them. 

She knew the scars would always be visible in close conversation, but could barely be seen from a few feet away. No one had stared or recoiled when she had passed them on the street in the past few days. She had gotten an occasional glance or question from a shop clerk in paying for purchases, however, and had told inquirers that she had been attacked by a dog years ago. People had responded with sympathy rather than horror for the most part. 

One young wizard who had sold her some plants for the flat had made the mistake of saying he was sorry about the scarring. “Without it, _mademoiselle_ , you would be _tres belle.”_

Lavender had looked him up and down before responding with a blinding smile, _“Ah, m’sieur, tu te trompe ou tu es un cr_ _étin. Je **suis** tres belle!” _[“Ah sir, you are mistaken or you are a moron. I _am_ very beautiful!”]

Her response made him blush with shame, and she swept out of the store with some satisfaction, tossing him a pitying look over her shoulder and swinging her hips in her exit. 

_‘Parvati_ _would have been proud of me,_ ’ she thought now, remembering the incident. Gods, she missed Parv! She wondered how her best friend was doing. She knew from _The Prophet_ that she’d survived the war, and prayed she had done so without injury.

o o o

Dressed and breakfasted, she Apparated to the magical centre of Paris. She had spent some time in the district each day, and had noted the location of a quite a few apothecary shops. It was time for some reconnoitering.

She entered the first upscale shop on her list, knowing her casual robes – well cut and of expensive fabric - would not raise any eyebrows here. She was pleased to see that the shop was empty except for a man in his mid-40s behind the counter.

“ _Bon jour, mademoiselle._ How may I assist you?” asked the clerk. He had clearly marked her as English.

Lavender gave him a vague smile as she strolled around the shop, glancing over the merchandise on display. “ _Bon jour, m’sieur._ I am new to the area, and am just exploring a bit today. It is a beautiful shop. I see that you carry the _Sorcellerie des Cheveaux_ hair care products.” She smiled over her shoulder. “My favorites, and it is good to know they will be available close by.”

“ _Mais oui, m’selle._ As you may know, _Sorcellerie des Cheveaux_ was created here in Paris.”

“In this shop?”

“Ah, no.” He shrugged. “We brew many of our own products, of course, but not _Sorcellerie des Cheveaux._ Most exclusive shops in Paris carry the line. However, if you are interested in trying something new, I believe you would be very pleased with _La Luisant Sorcière_ , which is our own creation. _Sorcellerie des Cheveaux_ is a fine line, _m’selle_ , but you have beautiful hair and it deserves the very best.”

“I agree, _m’sieur,_ ” Lavender said, turning to face him. “I would be happy to try it. Are you the creator?”

His quick eyes noted, but did not linger on, her scars. “Marc Gaillant, at your service, _m’selle_. I am the shop owner and commissioned the formula, but I am not the potioneer. May I assist you today in some other way?”

“ _Non, merci, M’sieur Gaillant._ ” Lavender smiled. “I believe that will be all.” 

She extended her hand once the purchase had been completed. _“Je suis Lavender Marron. Enchant_ _é.”_

 _“Enchant_ _é, M’selle Marron._ I hope I will have the pleasure of seeing you in my shop again.” 

Though his eyes did not drop, Lavender was left in no doubt that he had scanned her fully and appreciated what he saw. She smiled again, a bit aloofly, requested that he shrink the package for her purse, and bid him goodbye.

o o o

Three shops later, she had a purse filled with hair care products but had yet to meet an actual potioneer. This did not bother her overmuch – it was unlikely that a potioneer of great skill would be in a client-facing position in an upscale shop if Professor Snape were any indication. 

Her plan had been to purchase and sample the best original hair care lines, and then return to obtain other original products from that shop before determining if it would be worth her time to request introduction to the potion-maker. Lavender had used expensive products her whole life – if something really was a cut above in quality, she’d know. 

In the meantime, she would continue her search in smaller shops, where owner and potioneer might be the same person. Last resort would be exploring the dodgy end of the district, but she hoped it would not have to come to that.

Before she could continue today, however, her feet were demanding a break. The expensive heels she had on did their job in screaming “Money!” while making her legs look fabulous, but after two hours of shopping, she was regretting the impulse to wear them. 

Thankfully, Paris had no shortage of cafés. She found a sidewalk table and sank gratefully into her seat, barely glancing at the man seated at the table to her right.

 _‘Although if this morning is any indication,’_ she thought wryly, _‘he’ll be bringing himself to my attention soon enough.’_

Lavender had already concluded that either Parisian wizards were quite capable of ignoring a scarred face if the witch had a comely figure or they just genuinely were interested in all women. She suspected it was no accident that every shop she had visited in the upscale district had men behind the counter. 

None had been vulgar, or even obvious in perusal, but each left her feeling appreciated as an attractive woman. None had stared at her scars, or suggested facial creams or make-up for purchase. Instead, each was charmingly deferential while at the same time unmistakably leaving the impression of interest. She did not doubt that they sold a lot of products, but was grateful all the same, on today of all days. 

_“Vive la France,”_ she murmured, sipping her espresso.

 _“Merci, mademoiselle,”_ said the masculine voice to her right. _“Et vive la rose anglaise.”_

Mentally, she rolled her eyes. Her feet still hurt, and she was not done with her coffee. She did not want to abandon her table, but was not in the mood for flirting.

Coolly, she appraised the man next to her. He appeared to be a few years older than she, but no more than 25. He was not quite handsome, with a nose that was slightly off center and unruly brown hair that reminded her a bit of the styling disaster sported by Harry Potter. However, when he grinned in response to her frank stare, she saw with some amusement that he had received his full quota of Gallic charm. 

The warmth she could see in his dark brown gaze as he returned the stare was certainly flattering to a girl who was having a stressful day. Pre-Attack Lavender might well have melted in a puddle at his feet. Wolf Lavender, however, was made of sterner stuff. 

“ _Merci, m’sieur. Je regrette, mais – “_

He interrupted her in English. “I did not mean to bother you. _”_ Lazy brown eyes swept her face. “I thought perhaps we had some acquaintances in common.”

She frowned. “I would not think so, _Monsieur._ Now if you don’t mind - ”

 _“Non, vraiment?”_ He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “You are not lupine?

She was confused at first. She knew from Potions that lupines were flowering herbs. He’d already referred to her as an English rose, but…

Suddenly she froze. 

Lupine also meant “wolfish”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Reviews are appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated. And if you have any suggestions on female HP characters you would like to be featured in this new series, let me know in the comments! (Except for Hermione - her story is already told!)


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